


A Maker of Songs

by amyfortuna



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Bipolar Disorder, F/M, Female Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-09
Updated: 2016-01-09
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:53:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5613016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amyfortuna/pseuds/amyfortuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rían was a singer and a maker of songs, a bard to equal Daeron and Maglor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Maker of Songs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elleth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elleth/gifts).



> I adore Rían so much and couldn't resist the chance to explore her a bit more, especially the intriguing thought that she might've been bipolar.

Rían is like a ray of light on a cloudy day; her face shifts and changes moment by moment, swirling after the onrush of her thoughts. When her mood is merry everyone is cheered by her, when her mood is troubled, all who look at her grow sad themselves, with an ache in their breasts they cannot name. Most of the time she is merry, almost dangerously so at times, prone to laughter and pranks, but when she sinks into deep depressions, though this is rare, it is as if the very mists of Hithlum cloud her face and her heart, and so too a shadow falls upon the town. 

No matter her mood, she sings all the time: sad songs of grief and loss, of crackling flame and burning death when her mood is dark; merry songs of love and joy and the pleasant feelings of hearth and home in happier times. Her songs make the fires burn brighter, the bread taste better, as the rhymes and rhythms of them sink into the daily lives of everyone living nearby. Morwen hums them to baby Túrin, Aerin chants in rhythm as she kneads bread, and Húrin has been heard on the practice grounds singing one of her tunes as a way to train new recruits into marching in unison. 

There are those who compare her to Elvish bards; to Maglor, to Daeron, but Morwen always frowns on that. "Rían's gift is worth more than theirs," she says. "They have had the luxury of time to perfect their art; hers comes from the overwhelming fire of her spirit, from the passions of her heart in which she walks." And anyone who sees the normally taciturn Morwen's eyes flash with feeling as she says this grows silent, and only speaks to praise Rían, without comparisons. 

Huor looks at her like she is the centre of his existence for years before he dares to say a word. It is only the knowledge that time is short, that the days pass and fate creeps up on them, that gives him the courage to speak. And when he does, she laughs out of a heart full of joy, takes his hands, spins him in a circle, feet stumbling after her, and does not speak but sings one glorious, grand word:

"Yes!"


End file.
